Toy Soldiers
by Silken Slipper
Summary: The genre says humor but the first chapter is very meloncholy- it's more of an intro than anything- how things are set up. THIS IS SLASH BEWARE! The first chapter isn't, but the one's after it will be. Harry defeats Voldemort while saving Draco and...


Disclaimer: I do not own any Harry Potter character or place or anything else along those lines. That happy privilage belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and I claim no part of it. I did not make any money from this production. Please don't sue me. Also- toy soldiers, the song i used in this, is by eminem, not me. Don't sue me for that either please.

A/N: er.. my second songfic. It's 1:47 am. If it sucks, please don't burn me. Blame it on Pepsi and Cheezits. There will probably not be another songfic in this story, which is not finished (le sigh). This will be slash next chapter or the one after it, so anti slashers be warned!

**Toy Soldiers**

_Step by step, heart to heart, left right left_

_we all fall down_

_Step by step, heart to heart, left right left_

_we all fall down like toy soldiers_

_bit by bit torn apart We never win_

_but the battle wages on for toy soldiers_

Harry watched in horror as Neville fell, then Colin, then Luna, leaving only the main trio to defend the fallen potions master. They could not fail. Failing was not an option for them. True, the odds were against them, (three untried seventh years against fifteen fully fledged death eaters was hardly a fair fight), but one thought made it through the rest- they could not fail. If Snape died, the cause was gone. If he died, there would be NO cause. Severus Snape was the embodiment of the cause, the only heir to the throne that could only be claimed by blood relation to Segel Snape- Severus's father. Snape was the only heir- without the throne, there was not even a distant hope for peace. Without the hope for peace, there was not cause. Therefore if Voldemort or his cronies were to kill the spy behind them at their feet, he would instantly win not only the battle but the war- which left the hope for the entire wizarding world in the hands of three seventeen year olds, only one of which had seen true battle. As the deatheaters backed off to strategize, he left Hermione to eavesdrop while he surveyed the damage.

They had come here, the heart of the wizarding community (Roanoke, Mass.), in hopes of keeping Snape safe. Along with them had come fifty good, young fighters, most in seventh year or newly graduated. Except for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco Malfoy who was in the next room helping Dumbledore with Voldemort himself, they were all dead now- people he had known well since age eleven. Lavendar, Parvati, Crabbe, Goyle, Luna, Colin, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Hannah Abbot, Ernie Macmillan, several Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws he knew on sight but not by name, even Pansy Parkinson- dead. Every. Last. One. 46/50 students with magnificent potential- dead. Young people, only seventeen or eighteen, with their entire lives ahead of them, with husbands and wives and children, lost to a seemingly hopeless cause. An entire generation of Hogwarts-trained witches and wizards- gone. Harry felt rage bubble inside him. The losses were great, and if the three of them didn't prevail, it would all be in vain.

Over the past two years Draco Malfoy had joined the dream team, and Harry had grown to care for him like he did Ron and Hermione. Knowing that Draco was out of his reach made Harry uneasy... if something happened to him, he wouldn't be able to contain the rage. It would follow him like a sick puppy and then grow to a Doberman and eat anyone near the young accidental-celebrity.

"I wonder how Dumbledore's doing with he-who-shall-not-have-a-head-when-i'm-done-with-him."

"Don't think about it- it will only make it worse."

"I doubt that's possible."

"Harry, please don't tempt fate when we're involved."

"Sorry 'bout that."

All three of them were tired out of their minds- and Harry had to lead them.

_I'm suppose to be the soldier who never blows his composure  
Even though I hold the weight of the whole world on my shoulders  
I ain't never suppose to show it, my crew ain't suppose to know it  
Even if it means going toe to toe with the Benzino, it don't matter  
I never drag 'em in battles that I can handle less I absolutely have to  
I'm suppose to set an example, I need to be the leader  
My crew looks for me to guide 'em  
If some shit ever just pop off I'm suppose to be beside 'em  
That shit, I tried to squashed it, it was too late to stop it  
There's a certain line, you just don't cross it, and he crossed it_

Harry heard Draco scream, and something broke inside him. With a ferocious scream, he sent six different nasty hexes into the deatheater huddle, knowing he hit more than one with a few of them. Deatheaters went down, rage filled the room, and with the help of Hermione and Ron, by some miracle, there were fifteen stunned and tied Deatheaters on the ground in minutes. Leaving the other two with Snape, Harry rushed into the room where Voldemort and Dumbledore had been. They were still there. Glancing around, Harry found Draco unconcious on the floor with a line of blood lining his even-paler-than-usual face from the mouth- behind Voldemort. Not this time, Harry thought. You're not taking another one away from me. Later, he could barely remember the next few minutes- only that his one and only thought was _get to Draco_, that he sent quite a few hexes and curses and about five Unforgivables at Voldemort before his attacks stopped coming. Not knowing or caring about Voldemort's fate, Harry ran to Draco's side, checking his almost non-existant pulse and feeling a tear run down his soot-streaked face.

"Don't leave me Draco- not you too. I've lost to many today- I can't loose one of my own. Not one of my elite. Please Draco- Draco I love you. Please don't leave me..." He let his tears run unto Draco's cool face as he cradled the blond's head in his lap. "Please- don't leave."

"H-Har-ry?" His voice was weak but there. "Don't let me go Harry. I d-don't want to die."

"I'm trying Draco. Hold on- you're not going to die. Please hold on- it's just a hex. You're a Malfoy- you can stand a little hex, right?"

That drew a weak smile out of the Slytherin, and he nodded. "Right."

With a lot of effort, Harry picked Draco up after testing for broken bones. Feeling his torso's warmth felt nice against Harry's quivering body, and Harry wondered why. Dumbledore checked Voldemort, nodding the confirmation of his death, before following Harry to help Ron and Hermione with Severus.

Weeks passed, and the toll of their losses was felt full on. Sobbing parents, black drapes, and dark colored clothes were the new trends at Hogwarts. Less than a third of the seventh year population was left. The only three seventh year Gryffindors left and their odd companion, a blonde Slytherin (one of the only six seventh years left in his house), stuck together tightly. In all, the school's losses were 37 students- leaving 18 seventh years. Voldemort was gone, Snape had the throne, and all was as normal as it could be after something like that- except for one seventeen year old's feelings for one of his friends._  
_


End file.
